


Fool in the Rain

by monomi045



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Bartender Dean Winchester, Fluff, M/M, cliche as hell fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 19:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monomi045/pseuds/monomi045
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a friendly bartender that takes a friendly interest in a regular, every-night customer. Castiel is that regular customer, and he likes Dean enough to make a fool of himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fool in the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to two tumblr people- simpleemiko, who was fairly enthusiastic about this, and xxxakutenshixxx who pointed out a few mistakes for me.  
> Inspired by, and titled after, the Led Zeppelin song 'Fool in the Rain'. If you are not familiar with it, I highly suggest giving it a listen.

            Dean knew something was up when the guy just kept coming back because he didn’t give off the vibe of an alcoholic, or a sports fan. He was more of the lonely business guy type, suit and trench coat, one-beer-a-night type, and for some reason he just kept coming back. At first Dean figured he just had nowhere else to go, except one night he answered his phone and from the sound of it, declined to go to a party the obnoxious voice on the other end was talking loudly about, and stayed for another half hour.

            Eventually Dean got curious, and that night, business was slow. So he started talking, more than usual anyway. It started out simple enough.

            “So, what’s your name?” Wide blue eyes looked up at him, startled. “I mean, you come in here a lot, so…”

            _Smooth_ , Dean thought.

            “Oh. Castiel.”

            Dean blinked.

            “Sorry, what?”

            “My name. It’s Castiel.”

            _Real smooth._

            “Oh. Cool. I’m Dean but, uh… I figure you already knew that.”

            Castiel nodded silently and took a slip of his beer. So he wasn’t much of a talker. Dean shrugged it off and was thankful someone else sat down at the bar so he could escape an awkward silence. At least he could stop thinking ‘lonely trench coat guy’ whenever Castiel walked in.

            He finished mixing the Bloody Mary the tall guy in the tight shirt ordered and turned to see if Castiel needed anything, but found him gone. Exact change for his one beer, along with a five dollar bill, was left on the counter. And if Dean felt his heart drop just a bit, well, he didn’t acknowledge it. He just took the cash, pocketed his tip, and continued working.

 

 

            Of course, Castiel was gone the next day. Dean found himself wondering where the hell he was, considering it was 8:30 PM and he usually showed up at 8:00.  It was a busy night, though, and the spot Castiel usually occupied was filled by another man, the seat next to him taken by a dark haired woman that smiled at him with a predatory look in her eyes. Dean took a moment to wish the guy luck, because he seemed to be the innocent one of the couple, and brought them drinks when they ordered.

            There was a pool tournament that evening as well, so Dean distracted himself when he wasn’t needed mixing drinks and delivering beer with watching a blonde girl shoot three solids into three different holes at once, throwing her arms up and cheering while a guy a bit older than her with an outdated and greasy mullet swore, but grinned when she started to line up another shot. Another woman, older than the two of them, was giving him a look that said ‘don’t even think about it’.

            Dean watched and worked well past midnight, and the owner, an older guy named John, told Dean he would lock up for the night, so he counted up his tips for the day, stuffed the cash and coin into his wallet, and took off. As he drove down the road away from the bar, he couldn’t help but wonder again where Castiel had been. Not that he was worried, or anything of the sort. He’d just gotten used to seeing the same face every day for the past two, three weeks.

 

 

            Dean full on grinned when Castiel walked through the door, but it quickly faded when he saw the state the guy was in. He looked exhausted, like he’d just run a mile or something, and there were a few scabbed-over cuts on his forehead, one on his bottom lip, and another on his right cheek. And when he sat down, he was a bit more enthusiastic about the beer Dean brought him than he usually was. Hell, he probably chugged a quarter of it before setting the bottle down on the counter.

            “Bad day?” Dean asked, eyes flickering down the bar to be sure he had time to listen. No one needed his attention right away, so he focused back on Castiel. He noted the scrapes on his knuckles as well and wondered if he had gotten into a fight. Castiel nodded and took another sip of the beer, saying nothing. “Wanna talk about it?”

            He tensed, and Dean expected a full-on verbal ass-kicking from the face Castiel was making, but after a second it softened and he hung his head, staring down at the counter.

            “I over-slept. I may or may not have totaled my car yesterday. My older brother is in jail, _again_ , for assault.” Dean’s eyes widened but Castiel just kept on talking. “I haven’t slept properly in a week and might have insomnia. I fell asleep at my desk and if that happens one more time I’ll lose my job. If I’m late again, I’ll lose my job. If I-” Castiel stopped and looked up at Dean, looking apologetic. He shook his head. “Sorry. It’s been a long few days.”

            Dean offered him a warm smile, and Castiel took another long gulp from his beer, which was more than half empty now. He had questions, of course, but it looked like he had enough problems, and didn’t want to add ‘nosey bartender’ to them. Maybe he’d ask later, but now, three guys sat down at the other end of the bar so he excused himself, Castiel nodding to him, to take their orders. He scribbled the order of burgers and chicken down, delivered it to the kitchen, and made the drinks. By the time he got back to Castiel, the beer bottle in front of him was empty, meaning he would probably leave soon.

            “Thank you, Dean,” Castiel said. He pulled cash out of his pocket and placed it onto the counter before standing up and leaving the bar. Dean wished he would have stayed a few seconds longer, because he was prepared to pay for it himself- it would have been a friendly gesture, considering it sounded like he could lose his job soon, and he over-tipped like crazy anyway. No one else left a five dollar bill after drinking a two dollar beer.

            Next time, then.

 

 

            Castiel seemed to be in a bit of a better mood than the day before when he walked in at 8:00 PM sharp, but he still looked tired. Dean had the bottle of beer ready and twisted off the cap as he sat down in his usual spot, thanking Dean and taking a drink.

            It was a Tuesday, and not many people were in the bar. In fact, other than Castiel, there were two younger girls in the back tables shooting pool, and an older guy at the bar. That was it, for now, and neither party was in need of anything, so he could chat for a bit.

            “So. How’s the car?” he asked, leaning on the counter a bit. Castiel huffed out a half-hearted laugh, but didn’t seem too amused.

            “Totaled.”

            “What happened to it?”

            Dean couldn’t help his curiosity. He had a thing for cars, mostly his own ’67 Impala, but if he weren’t a bartender, he’d be working in a garage.

            “Semi-truck.”

            Dean faltered and took a half step back, eyes wide. Castiel seemed confused by his shock, and Dean was shocked by his confusion.

            “You… you got hit by a semi-truck and all you get is…” He gestured to Castiel. “ _that?_ ”

            Castiel seemed to understand, but Dean sure as hell didn’t because the guy chuckled and shook his head. He took a sip from his beer.

            “I wasn’t in the car at the time,” he explained. “This…” He gestured to himself. “This is from the fistfight I got into with the truck driver, after he smashed into my car, and blamed me for not parking correctly at the truck-stop.”

            He was getting weirder and weirder, this guy, and as Dean watched him take a drink from his beer, he noticed that the scratches on his hands were more like bloody knuckles. He’d seen plenty of those from bar fights. So he’d been right, he had gotten into a fight.

            Dean would have asked him what he had been doing at a truck-stop in the first place, but one of the two girls waved him over. He excused himself and was glad that the girls asked for the bill, which he brought at lightning speed. One of them giggled, and Dean apologized, but she just shook her head and gave him a grin like she knew something he didn’t as she fished a twenty out of her pocket.

            “Thanks, uh…?”

            “Meg,” she replied, still grinning. “Better get back to that story Clarence is telling, it sounds pretty interesting.” She stood up to leave when her friend nodded to her. “Keep the change, Dean-o.”

            Dean wished Meg and her blonde friend a nice day and returned to the bar, putting the twenty dollar bill into the register and not bothering to take out his tip. He checked on the older guy, too, asking if he needed anything, but the man just shook his head, so he returned to Castiel- who was once again finished with his beer. Dean did his best to hide his disappointment, because this was the second time he finished his drink fast, and left him wondering. For a moment, he thought Castiel might stick around, but the cash was pulled out of his pocket again and placed on the counter- always seven dollars even, a ‘thank you’, and Castiel was out the door. He rushed out, and Dean wondered if he should just give up on the idea of saying ‘it’s on me’.

            Dean closed the bar early that night since his boss had the night off and it was a Tuesday- no one else would come by, anyway. He was careful of any semi-trucks he drove past on his way home.

 

 

            8:00 PM didn’t come fast enough, but at least Castiel showed up again. Dean had his beer ready, along with a question.

            “Tell me, Cas, if your car’s a wreck, how do you get here?”

            The nickname sort of slipped out, but Castiel didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he didn’t mind.

            “I walk,” he told Dean. “I live in the apartment building a few blocks away, so…”

            “Oh,” Dean said. Wednesday was hectic, only because of the ‘drinking team’ that came in once a week, and this week they had about five little kids with them that were sitting at a table, talking loudly and playing on phones they were too young to have. Meg and her blonde friend were back, gossiping about something and, occasionally, laughing about it.

            He wouldn’t have much time to chat, but the beers for the drinking team were full and the kids had two baskets of mozzarella sticks. John was also around to wait on tables, too, so he had a minute or two.

            “Alright, I have to ask,” Dean began, catching Castiel’s attention. “What were you doing at a truck-stop? Hell, where do you even _find_ a truck-stop around here?”

            Castiel smiled, just a bit.

            “My job takes me on a two hour drive every day, and I pass by the truck-stop every day. I only stopped there because my car ran out of gas, and I didn’t have the strength to push it to the pumps.”

            If Cas had been weird before, he was even weirder now.

            “Should I even ask where you work to have to drive that far?”

            “Chair factory,” Castiel replied, and there were a few seconds of silence before they both started laughing, and Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Cas laugh- really laugh. “It sounds absurd, I know, but I process orders and… things, I guess.” Cas brought the beer bottle up to his lips and took a drink, swinging his head back and gulping.

            “Why don’t you find a job closer to home?” Dean asked.

            “Pay’s good,” Castiel answered. “Plus they gave me a credit card to pay for gas. It’s pretty easy, considering it’s just the same thing, day after day.”

            “Sounds kinda boring, actually,” Dean said before he could stop himself. He hoped John didn’t hear, because rule one was don’t insult people, period. Even if that wasn’t much of an insult.

            “Yes, it is, but I’m not sure I could learn to do anything else.” Another long gulp of beer. “What about you, Dean? Bartending? You look like you belong on a movie set or something with the way you-”

            Castiel stopped. Dean stopped. Nothing was said for a moment, a very awkward moment because if Dean didn’t know any better Cas had been on the road towards ‘hitting-on-the-bartender’.

            “I like it here,” Dean finally said, and that was true. “Pay is good enough, tips are awesome.” If Castiel picked up on what he was talking about, he didn’t show it. “Don’t have a reason to quit.”

            Cas took a long few gulps, and was about one swallow of beer away from putting seven dollars on the counter and leaving.

            “I see.”

            He finished off the beer, left his pay and tip, and left. And Dean, as usual, wondered.

 

 

            “So what kind of music do you like, Cas?”

            From the moment he had walked in, 8:00 PM sharp, Castiel looked tense, like he wasn’t sure he should be there in the first place. Dean hoped the question would lighten the mood, because it was a Thursday, and Thursday’s always had a tense air about them. Anticipation for Friday, mostly.

            “Classical,” Castiel answered, and despite the fact that Dean had already guessed that would be the answer, he still looked surprised. “Anything an orchestra can play, really.”

            “I can dig that,” Dean said, though he really couldn’t. Unless it was the theme to Pirates of the Caribbean, he wasn’t the type to go out and buy Beethoven records.  

            “And you?” Castiel asked, sipping his beer.

            “Rock. Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Metallica, Bon Jovi, The Beatles… You get the idea I guess.”

            “I was never fond of AC/DC,” Castiel admitted. “’Hey Jude’ is a good song, though, and I am fond of the film ‘Give My Regards to Broad Street’. But you seem like the type to enjoy rock and roll.”

            “So no opinion on Zeppelin?”

            Fuck it, Dean had to ask. Led Zeppelin was his favorite, after all.

            “If I have heard their music I was not aware of it, so… I don’t have an opinion, really.”

            Dean blinked, and had to keep himself from not gaping at Cas. He knew not everyone knew about Zeppelin, but he figured they were people in third world countries, or China or something. _Everyone_ knew Led Zeppelin, even if it was just ‘Stairway to Heaven’ or ‘Immigrant Song’.

            Meg and her blonde friend were back again, at the bar now, and Dean was glad when Meg waved him over and asked for another round of drinks. He was about to make the rounds, make sure everyone sitting at the tables was good on food and drinks, but Meg grabbed him by the wrist before he had a chance.

            He froze.

            “Clarence over there is gonna finish his beer sweetheart, better go say something,” she whispered. Dean blinked at her, confused, even more so when Meg grinned, but she just let him go and sipped her hard cider out of the bottle.

            Dean took her advice, though, and returned to Cas to find she was right- one gulp away from gone for another day.

            “Hey, um…” Dean glanced over at Meg, who just winked at him. “Just wanna say thanks.”

            Castiel finished his beer.

            “For?”

            Dean swallowed the lump in his throat.

            “The, uh… the tips. Really, it’s not necessary, man, but… thanks.”

            “Oh. My pleasure, Dean, I- I enjoy our conversations.”

            “Same here, Cas.”

            Seven dollars, and he was gone. Dean, again, wondered, but now his thoughts strayed towards what Meg had meant. She knew something he didn’t, and it occupied his mind until closing.

 

 

            Castiel kept himself from the bar for the three day weekend he had, and when he reappeared on Monday he could see Dean recognize him instantly. He knew there would be a beer waiting for him, and when he sat down, he took a swig of it the second he could. The alcohol tasted nasty, but he guessed no one really drank beer for the taste anyway.

            He had hoped three days away from the bar would help him get over this stupid crush he had on the man across the counter, who was currently smiling at him, but the tightness in his chest told him that hadn’t worked. He cursed. Not out loud, of course. But he cursed Dean for being so friendly. Cursed him for actually talking to him, rather than just being, well, pretty.

            Castiel had hoped, for a while, that it had just been a physical attraction, but when Dean had started talking to him, it turned into something worse. And he had almost given his secret away. He wondered if Dean knew as he took another drink of beer.

            “You’re quiet today,” Dean said.

            “Yes,” Castiel said simply.

            “Somethin’ on your mind?”

            “Yes.”

            “O-kay, well, if you wanna talk, well. You know where to find me.”

            Dean wandered off to take care of the two women sitting at a table behind him, and couldn’t help but look over his shoulder for a second. He caught the eyes of one of the two, and she winked at him. Not the ‘wanna have some fun?’ kind of wink, but the ‘I know’ kind. Castiel shivered and turned back around, thankful Dean didn’t notice.

            When Dean returned, it was just silence between them, and it made Castiel drink just a bit more, a bit faster. So maybe the alcohol wouldn’t snap him out of his stupid crush, but the warm feeling seemed to dampen the pain it gave him. He finished it quickly, and when he looked to Dean, he saw it. _It_ could have been anything, really, but Castiel was pretty sure there was some kind of sadness.

            _Fuck it_ , he thought.

            “Another.”

            Dean looked surprised, but didn’t object, twisting off another cap and setting another bottle down in front of him. Subconsciously, Castiel knew his tolerance wasn’t that good, but he didn’t care at this point. He was going to get drunk for the first time in a very long time, and he just didn’t give a shit.

 

 

            He regretted it. So very, very much. Even before Castiel opened his eyes, he really wished he hadn’t gotten drunk. He had no idea where he was, but it felt soft. Softer than a floor, at least. And when he found the courage to open his eyes, he groaned. It was way too bright, and the white ceiling wasn’t one he recognized. It didn’t help that he couldn’t remember a damn thing past his second beer.

            “Shit,” he said, out loud, not really caring who heard.

            “’Shit’ is right, man, never would’a took you for a lightweight.”

            _Shit._

            Dean. Castiel hoped he was still drunk and hearing things, but when he sat up and looked around, he found it to be very real. There was Dean, standing a few feet from the couch he was on, wearing jeans and a white shirt. Barefoot. That implied something that made Castiel wish he could just fly away, vanish into thin air. Anything but just sit there.

            “What happened?” Castiel mumbled, scratching his head.

            “You got drunk after three beers, I didn’t know which apartment building you lived in, and you passed out half way into the parking lot.”

            “Oh god, Dean, I am so sorry, I… I’m sorry.”

            Dean shrugged, but he didn’t look exactly fine with the situation either, which lead Castiel to guess he was lying when he said, “No big deal, I wasn’t just gonna leave you in the lot. And you didn’t throw up anywhere, so that’s a plus.”

            Castiel felt like he was going to throw up, but he swallowed it down.

            “I should… go…”

            He stood, too fast, and stumbled, and he really wished he hadn’t, because Dean was there in a second, holding him up. Too close. The not-so-logical part of Castiel’s brain was telling him to latch onto Dean and never let go, an urge he fought until he could stand on his own and Dean was a good distance away again.

            “Need anything before you leave? Water, breakfast… I could make something.”

            “No, no, you’ve… letting me sleep here was enough, Dean, thank you.”

            The front door was easy enough to find, and Castiel left, stumbling in the hall a bit and suppressing the urge to vomit when he rode the elevator down one floor.

 

           

            It was in the middle of the day- Castiel had called in sick to work, and listened to three voicemails Anna, temporary driver and co-worker, had left him- when he remembered. Images and words just sort of flowed into his mind, and he felt sick again, because Dean had lied when he said he had passed out in the parking lot. He had thrown up in the parking lot, and all the way back to Dean’s apartment, had talked at length about being in love with a bartender and not having the guts to tell him.

            Castiel did throw up then, out of disgust, and vowed to never get drunk again. Ever. He also figured staying away from the bar would be a good idea, too.

            He took a few pills to kill the pain in his head, and flopped onto his bed without bothering to take off his coat or his shoes or anything. Castiel had no idea how long he just laid there, but eventually his phone buzzed once- a text message.

            The name on the display shocked him.

 

            _Cas, hope u don’t mind, i swiped ur # and put mine in. Just checking to make sure ur ok._

 

            Castiel said every curse word that came to his mind, and then replied.

 

            _I am fine. Sorry._

 

            His phone buzzed again, a minute later.

 

            _Told u. Its ok. Being drunk sucks._

 

            Castiel groaned, but figured he couldn’t screw up any more than he already had.

 

            _I’m sorry for what I said, Dean._

 

            And a minute later,

 

            _Booze was talkin Cas._

 

            Castiel wished that were true.

 

            _Yes, and it told you the truth. I’m sorry, Dean._

 

            He didn’t get another text after that, and figured that was that. Castiel slept for the rest of the day.

 

           

            An idea worked its way into his head a few days later, and for a while, Castiel hated it, because it told him he might have a chance with Dean. A chance at something, because Dean hadn’t exactly rejected him. If anything, he seemed sympathetic.

            Castiel threw himself into his work for the next few days after that, and when his paycheck came around, he took a bit more cash than usual at the bank. Anna dropped him off at his apartment building, and Castiel started walking.

            He found the record store about ten minutes later, and stared dumbly at the records and tapes and CD’s and smaller versions of records until the guy behind the counter decided to help him. Castiel left with one CD and a new boom box from another section of the store, and wondered if this was the stupidest thing he’d ever do in his life.

            As he walked back to his apartment, he looked at the song list and was surprised to find an appropriate song. It might not have been raining, but he certainly was a fool for even considering what he was planning to do.

 

 

            By the time Dean got home, it was pouring raining. Not too hard, but unfortunately he did get wet running from his car to the building. It was midnight, and he was exhausted. He hadn’t seen Castiel in days, and figured he wouldn’t any more. Dean told himself he might have lost his job, or gotten sick, or anything but ‘remembered what happened when drunk and was scared off’, even though he _knew_ that was why. And Castiel had gone and told him it was true, too.

            Dean tried to place his thoughts elsewhere, but he just couldn’t. He could still see the empty place at the bar, and Meg’s knowing look. Right now, he just needed to sleep. Maybe then he could get his mind off Cas, about how he liked him but wasn’t sure it was _in that way_ , because he still liked chicks too, and was pretty sure Meg’s blonde friend had been hitting on him before she told her cut it out.

            Usually Dean didn’t drink before sleeping, but the whiskey bottle called to him. He poured himself a small glass and sat on the bed in his room, slipping at it, uninterested and lost in thought. He was only pulled from those thoughts when he heard a sudden, loud noise- music. Drums, piano, guitar, and soon enough, vocals he recognized, even though there were muffled. Someone was blasting Zeppelin, and Dean figured it was just a loud car, but the music stayed, even when he heard the cars on the road drive off. He didn’t mind much- it was a good song. Hell, he hummed along with more than a few lines and thought about seeing if the record store down the road had any albums that weren’t in his collection already.

            After a while, though, he was curious. Curious enough to set his glass of whiskey on the table next to his bed and walked to his window, opening it up.

 

            _Now I will stand in the rain on the corner_

_I'll watch the people go shuffling downtown_

_Another ten minutes no longer_

_And then I'm turning around_

Dean looked and wondered if he was seeing things, hearing things, _anything_ but that. ‘That’ was Castiel under a street light, trenchcoat the only thing keeping the rain off him, but obviously not doing a good job, with a boom box. That was the source of the Led Zeppelin.

            “Holy shit.”

            Cas couldn’t have heard him, but he looked up anyway. Dean was only on the second floor, and he could see his face- he looked embarrassed, one hand behind his back, holding… flowers. There were flowers in Castiel’s hand.

            “Holy _shit,_ ” he repeated.

            Cas waved awkwardly, and that was that. Dean wasn’t going to sit there like an idiot any more. So he moved away from the window and pretty much ran through his apartment, thankful he still had boots on. He skipped the elevator and practically jumped down the flight of stairs, pushing past a few people in the lobby, ignoring the ones who shouted.

            He was still there when Dean made it outside, and wasn’t trying to hide the flowers anymore.

 

            _Ooh, now my body is starting to quiver_

_And the palms of my hands getting wet, ohh_

_I've got no reason to doubt you baby_

_It's all a terrible mess_

Castiel looked surprised to see him, and looked even more surprised when walked up to him and grinned. Part of him was thankful it was late- it was just the two of them on the street at this hour.

            “So you do know some Zeppelin,” he said casually.

            Castiel took a moment to search for words.

            “It… seemed appropriate. Even more so with the weather.”

            “It’s great, Cas,” Dean said. And his eyes looked to the flowers. The stems were in a beer bottle- the same kind of beer he drank every day at the bar. It was cliché as hell, even more so with the music, but Dean just didn’t care. He liked Cas, and this made him like him even more.

            “Um… so… what now?”

            Dean looked up, thinking for a moment, and he shrugged.

            “How ‘bout this,” he said.

            He grabbed Castiel by his blue tie, pulled him forward, and kissed him.

 

            Fool in the Rain, indeed. 


End file.
